“Figuratively, too,” Hel responds, turning towards the man. “I guess.”
She shrugs, before the corners of her mouth quirk, surveying the
dishevelled dark hair and lighter eyes as she looks upward. “Hard core tat,” she appraises. “Corruption, though? Really?”
She shakes her head, letting out a breath. “Classy.”
Her eyes roll, as her shoulder shifts away.

“Where exactly did you think a guy like me would hang out?”
he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Kind of
perfect, if you think about it. Pretty
great rate of success, courtesy of lowered inhibitions..”

“I’m sure,” Hel says, laughing openly now. “Like I said – beer tent’s where you want to
be. Best of British - though you won’t
need it, several ales in.”